


The Ache

by morrezela



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Car Sex, M/M, Massage, Pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-12
Updated: 2013-03-12
Packaged: 2017-12-05 01:52:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/717495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morrezela/pseuds/morrezela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam gets a massive back ache from riding and sleeping in the car. Dean helps his brother out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ache

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written in response to a prompt on spnkink_meme on livejournal. 
> 
> The prompt was: "sam/dean; sam with trememdous backache: sam and dean are low on cash and are forced to spend nights in the impala. normally thats not an issue for either of them. but the problem was, sam is suffering from severe lower back pains for a couple of days and its very hard for him to sit or sleep in the impala. extra if they are also dry on meds too and sam's backache gets worse. dean makes him lie with his head on dean's lap and gives him long massage to help with the pain. dean even has to help sam stand up, sit down or even walk properly due to pain."
> 
> All mistakes you find are my own.

The Winchester men are incredibly focused sons of bitches. It is what makes them such good hunters. They’re like dogs on the trail of their prey. They don’t slow down, and they don’t give up until something comes along that is just too major to ignore.

 

This trait is also what makes them incredibly prone to running into major problems. They’re too damn busy paying attention to the global scale of things to pay attention to the minutia of everyday life.

Things like cash flow and supplies tend to get pushed to the back burner when you’re chasing after the devil, trying to put the brakes on the apocalypse.

Normally it isn’t so bad. Dean and Sam have spent all but four years of their lives living out of the Impala. Although, Dean thinks that Sam got the better of his four years, because yeah, he had mom, but Sam got to have four years of being fully grown and getting to sleep on a mattress every night. It isn’t something they discuss though, because Dean likes to pretend Stanford never happened.

And really, the Impala isn’t so much their home as it is an extension of them. They know just how to pack their gear into it for optimal space. They know just how to lean into the seats to get the maximum amount of leg room and how to curl up to gain extra warmth in the winter.

As far as Dean is concerned, the knowledge is one of their true blessings in life. When they find themselves in the middle of farm country without enough money for a hotel room? It’s nice that they still have a place to sleep at night because there aren’t exactly a whole lot of places to hustle pool or darts when the average population of each town doesn’t reach much beyond the thousands.

That happens to be the position that they’re in at the moment. They have to hoard their cash for gas until they get to a place that they can pick up new credit cards and play some drunken fools for spare change.

It isn’t an abnormal situation, and Dean doesn’t really think too much about it until Sam starts nodding off in the car during the day. That too isn’t out of the ordinary – on occasion. They live on a screwed up sleeping schedule, and sometimes you have to just grab the rest when you can. But they’ve been resting at night pretty regularly, so Sam shouldn’t be any more prone to sleeping than he normally is.

It doesn’t take but five seconds of observing his brother for Dean to realize that he’s in pain. There is something about the way that his mouth twists and his eyes squint that spells it all out on Sam’s face even when he’s sleeping.

Of course, just because he is in pain doesn’t mean that Sam isn’t still a Winchester at heart. He wakes up the instant his subconscious mind realizes he’s being scrutinized, and immediately denies being in pain. The fucker.

Two days later Sam’s face isn’t so much hinting at pain as announcing to the world that there is a giant lemon shoved up his ass. His mouth is all puckered and his brow furrowed, and if Dean doesn’t do something about it, Sam is going to get some really unattractive age wrinkles.

A couple of sidelong glances and surreptitious touches have proven that Sam isn’t suffering from any hidden injuries from their last supernatural fight, so that eliminates several possibilities of what is wrong right off the bat.

Things would be easier if Sam would just admit to actually being in pain, but Dean knows that won’t happen. His brother won’t even take the Tylenol that Dean pocketed at the last gas station because they’re running low on everything, and you never know when you’re going to get attacked by the next bunch of blood thirsty demons or rogue angels.

Then again, Dean’s a smart guy, and he doesn’t need a medical degree to figure out that even though the Impala is a big car, Sam’s an even bigger guy. He isn’t the little Sammy that used to cuddle up next to his big brother in the backseat and nod off comfortably while their dad dragged them all over the country.

Dean isn’t a small man himself. He’s tall and strong, and compared to anybody else in the world, he looks like a heaven blessed warrior. The irony of that, by the way, is not lost on him.

Sam dwarfs him. Dean has seen people’s eyes widen as they approach. From a distance it looks like Sam is just a regular guy, and Dean is this little midget. It isn’t until they get closer that folks realize that Dean is slightly above average, and Sam is a freaking moose.

And it wasn’t even so bad when Sam was a teenager. He’d gotten freakishly lanky and tall, but he’d still had that odd sort of willowy grace and flexibility. Hell, he’d still had it when Dean had finally broken down and dragged his baby brother away from his normal life at Stanford.

In the past few years though? Sam’s frame has just continued to bulk out with muscles. Objectively Dean has known for a while that his brother could easily overpower him with his strength. It’s why Dean has taken to working on his agility and speed. Bad things happen way to often in their line of work, and you can never be completely sure that your partner isn’t going to get some whacked out evil parasite that is going to make him attack you – even if he wasn’t Satan’s chosen vessel.

Non-objectively and subconsciously, Dean’s been noticing his Sammy filling out, and even if his own head refuses to wrap around the concept of finding his own brother attractive, the little head has been pestering him about it for the past few years. He ignores it. Each and every time the damn thing perks up hopefully in his jeans, he squashes the urge down so far that it has no hope of ever seeing daylight.

It is what is best for Sam. Except, now it isn’t because Dean’s pretty sure that ignoring the fact that his brother is a giant is what kept him from recognizing that said giant couldn’t possibly be comfortable spending night after night inside of the car.

In a fit of guilt, he does something stupid and tries to talk to Sam about it. Not the unrequited, oh so sick urge to be Sammy’s boyfriend ‘it’, but the fact that Sam is probably not comfortable being cooped up in the car.

The conversation doesn’t go over so well. Sam starts off with denial. When presented with the facts, he admits that it is uncomfortable, but he’s dealing. When pushed harder… well somehow Sam turns it around so that it sounds like Dean is doubting him and making him seem selfish.

After that conversation, Dean has three hours of sullen silence to contemplate the fact that Sam would’ve been a scary good lawyer. He decides to give up on the subject entirely and let Sam be the martyr that all good Winchesters are supposed to be.

That lasts until the next morning when Sam falls flat on his face getting out of the backseat in the morning. Dean ends up having to pull his brother on to his feet because he can’t twist to get enough leverage to get upright. By the time that Dean wrangles him into the passenger’s seat, they’re both flushed: Dean with exertion, Sam with embarrassment.

When they stop midway through the day, Dean practically has to drag his brother over to a pine tree and prop him up so that he can take a leak in private. It isn’t that Dean minds providing the assistance. He just figures that he shouldn’t have to be providing it, so he bites the bullet and tries to talk to Sam again.

That conversation doesn’t go well either, but Sam finally admits to having leg cramps – which, of course, means that he is in worse pain somewhere else.

Enough is enough, and when Dean finally parks the car for the night, he really has no guilt that he drives his baby over some poor farmer’s crops so that he can park her under a lone tree standing out in a field. He freaking hates waking up to the sun beating on his face, and a car is mostly windows so that’s been happening a lot lately. Sam grunts irritatedly at him for it, but he doesn’t nag. When Sam’s too tired to nag, he’s too tired period.

It is Dean’s turn for sleeping in the backseat, so Sam’s face loses its pained grimace for a while as surprise settles over it instead when the passenger side door opens.

“Come on, Sasquatch,” Dean grunts as he grabs a hold of his brother’s upper arm and gives a tug.

“Dean?” Sam grunts out in response, and Dean could really kick himself because there is way too much pain mixed in with the confusion in Sam’s voice.

“In the back Sammy,” Dean directs as he opens the back door and gives his brother a gentle shove, “You’re not going to be fit to hunt squirrels if you keep this up.”

Sam’s face turns bitchy when he realizes what exactly is going on, but he complies with just some mumbled cursing.

Of course, Sam’s been sleeping every other night in the backseat already, so that is hardly going to fix the problem. But Dean’s spent most of his life patching up injuries and wounds, and he’s spent the rest of it paying attention to Sam. He’s got a plan.

When he opens the driver’s side back door, Sam is still trying to twist to find a comfortable position. The way that his limbs are flailing, it is painfully obvious that he’s trying not to twist his torso.

“Up,” Dean grunts as he pushes at Sam’s head and slides down to sit. The confusion snaps back into place on Sam’s face, but he complies as Dean rearranges them so that he can comfortably sprawl his legs and settle Sam’s giant head in his lap.

They freeze that way for a second. Dean suddenly has the need to work up some professionalism about the situation, and he figures Sam is just plain in too much pain to figure out what the hell is going on.

After a moment though, Dean wills his the fingers on his right hand to start moving in a gentle caress. He starts out at the back of Sam’s head right where his skull meets up with his spine. He gently rubs at the muscles there, and even though they’re tense, he can tell that they aren’t painfully so.

His left hand finds its way into Sam’s hair and starts in with a scalp massage as his other hand continues down the back of Sam’s neck to his shoulders. It’s dark in the car with just glimpses of moonlight filtering in occasionally as clouds first obscure and then reveal the celestial body. Dean doesn’t look at his brother as his fingers move. He stares at the back of the driver’s seat and lets his fingers tell him what is going on with Sam’s body.

Sam’s shoulders are tense and slightly knotted, but they relax almost instantly with very little urging. They aren’t the cause of the problem; they’re a symptom of a body trying to hold itself in a very specific position. Still, symptom or no, their release causes Sam to huff a warm, moist breath against Dean’s lap, and he has to stop his ministrations for a moment to remind his cock that it will absolutely not be entertaining any of those sorts of thoughts about Sam.

By the time that he’s worked his hand down between Sam’s shoulder blades, he’s gotten himself back under some semblance of control. This is a good thing because Sam chooses that moment to shift his weight around a bit so that he’s more on his stomach instead of on his side. He’s giving Dean better access to his back. He’s also now got his face pretty much planted in Dean’s crotch.

Dean’s left hand rewards this behavior by petting the back of Sam’s head, and if Dean didn’t need it for hunting, driving and everyday life? He’d cut the fucker off for molesting his brother like that.

Still, Sam doesn’t seem to notice the aberrant desires of his older brother’s hand, so Dean makes his right one keep going.

About an inch or so under the bottom of Sam’s shoulder blades, Dean’s fingers encounter the first of the true knots. They’re almost as hard as the knobby protrusions of bone that make up Sam’s spine, and just touching them makes Sam flinch. One of his massive paws suddenly grips onto Dean’s knee while the other curls around the small of Dean’s back to clutch at the hip on the other side.

Sam doesn’t say anything, and Dean doesn’t expect him to. It is another of Sam’s secrets that Dean has had to find out. But Sam knows better than to deny the obvious, and Dean has secrets of his own to keep.

The pressure on Dean’s knee increases as his hand keeps exploring downwards, but it doesn’t reach actually painful proportions until he kneads the actual small of Sam’s back. What Dean finds is conclusive evidence that Sam has been lying through his teeth about the amount of pain he’s been in.

Dean doesn’t chastise his brother for it though, because the odd lumps and twists he can feel make his own back wince in sympathy. He isn’t really sure that he’d know where exactly he was on Sam’s body if his hand had just gone straight to the spot. It is knotted that much.

Dean rubs his left hand in a reassuring manner as he awkwardly tugs Sam’s shirt loose with the other. He suppresses a shudder as his hand slides back under to rub against actual skin this time. It doesn’t matter to his primal brain that Sam is in pain. All that matters to it is that he’s actually touching warm, tempting skin.

And people wonder why Dean hates himself.

“Just do it already.” Sam’s voice rumbles against Dean’s lap as he speaks, and Dean chastises himself for his hesitation. Brotherly comfort first, self flagellation later.

His fingers dig into the snarled mess and the groan that Sam issues out is not one of pleasure. There isn’t anything for it though. The knots need to come out, and they don’t even have any oil to ease the friction of the rub.

The first few minutes are agony for them both. Sam is in pain, and Dean is causing it. And when Sam bites down on Dean’s thigh when he manages to his a particularly sore spot? Well, Dean wouldn’t call it hell because he’s been there, and anything involving Sam being alive and on the side of good could never be called hell. He would call it purgatory though.

Then Dean gets the first lump to release and Sam’s groan is definitely one that says, “Oh, God, yes. Again. More!”

Or it could just be relief. Dean’s libido likes to skew things to its own point of view.

The surrounding knots go away more easily than the first one, and the sweat that starts to build up on Sam’s skin eases the way for Dean’s fingers. His hand is starting to cramp, but he can’t exactly switch positions, so he just hopes that this fixes Sam up good enough that he can drive tomorrow while Dean nurses his own sore hand.

Truthfully though, Dean is kind of happy to have a cramping hand. It keeps his mind away from subjects like how Sam’s natural musk is getting stronger in the closed confines of the car and how warm and safe his cock feels being bathed by the constant, moist heat of Sam’s breath.

And hey, isn’t that just another level of fucked up? It isn’t enough to be hot and horny for his brother. He’s got to feel like this is where he belongs. Like having Sam’s head down there is natural and comfortable like Sam is his goddamn husband or something.

Dean is freaked out enough by the thought that he jerks his hand away from the massage. It’s WRONG to think about Sam like that. To crave being his one and only and to feel jealousy when Jess’s name is mentioned and to want to be Sam’s mate…

“Dean? You hear something?” Sam’s voice interrupts Dean’s thoughts.

And of course Sam thinks that Dean heard something. They’re hunters. Dean had to have been distracted by potential danger to take him away from the task of getting his fellow hunter back into fighting shape.

“It was just my imagination.” Dean lies as his hand settles back down onto Sam’s skin.

“Mmmm,” is Sam’s only comment as he nuzzles back down onto his human pillow.

Dean’s massage stutters into a caress as his brain processes the sensation and his dick immediately starts to perk up, because that there? That feels really, really good, and he hasn’t had sex in weeks. With all the depression and world ending and incest worrying, he just didn’t have time to forget himself in the arms of some willing bar floozy.

“Harder,” Sam commands, and Dean’s cock complies even though his body knows full and well that Sam’s talking about the back rub.

On the plus side, the demand is a good sign that Sam is starting to feel better.

He pushes down with more force, rubbing the heel of his hand against a larger knot, and Sam gasps in shock at the change. Gasps and fucking arches into the touch.

It’s a good thing that Dean has spent so many years being a hunter because it taught him to be quiet, and the last thing in the world that he wants to do at the moment is be quiet. He can feel the precome soaking into his jeans because he ran out of clean underwear. Wet denim sort of chafes and from the way that the sensation is spreading, it isn’t just a drop or two. He’s freaking leaking down there, and Sam isn’t helping things.

Sam’s changed his position again. He doesn’t have his face nuzzled in Dean’s crotch anymore, thank God, but his giant, perky ass is pushing up into the air like a damn cat. Dean wants to yell at him that the position isn’t good for working the rest of the kinks out, but somehow uttering the word ‘kink’ sounds like a very bad idea at the moment.

“Dean…” Sam’s protesting groan is full of impatience, and Dean’s jeans are suddenly in serious danger of developing a permanent bulge from where his dick is pushing insistently against them.

“Just a second, Sammy. I’ve got to work a cramp of my own out.” Dean mutters, and damn his voice has gone into his lower register - the one that it goes to when he’s done with providing foreplay and ready to roll the condom on.

Sam, the uncharitable bastard, snorts at Dean’s proclamation. “It’s what you get for driving all the time. Your hand is always curled around something. Steering wheel, a gun, a knife… you’re gonna get some sort of weird carpal tunnel from that.”

Dean chooses to not say anything in response. Not because he can’t come back with a witty response, but because his mind is fervently imagining his hand curled around a cock. First his then Sam’s then his and Sam’s together as he thrusts in and out of…

Okay, focusing would be good. Also? Payback for Sam being a lying, whiny bitch would also be good.

After all, if Sam had just mentioned that his back was seizing up earlier in the week, Dean wouldn’t be sporting massive wood right now. They’d have taken care of it with a quick, perfunctory, clinical rub that wouldn’t have made Dean’s cock… well, in honesty it still would’ve given his cock ideas, but he would’ve been able to take care of it with a quick rub and tug in a gas station bathroom.

“Bitch,” Dean mutters as he brings his hand back down with just the slightest hint of a slap.

Turns out that slap was a very bad idea. Sam might be feeling better, but his back is still sore. As a result, Sam crashes forward again, and although he doesn’t groan in pain, Dean does because Sam’s head is heavy, and his hard-on doesn’t like heavy things slamming into it.

“Dean?” And yeah, the confusion is back in Sam’s voice, but Dean’s mind isn’t coming up with a believable lie for why he’s got a stiffy.

Sam’s face turns a little in its resting spot and Dean freezes when it stops and rubs back and forth a bit.

“Jesus, you’re wet!” Sam sounds… hell Dean doesn’t know how Sam sounds. Impressed? Disgusted? Shocked? Mortified?

He opens his mouth to say something, but only an embarrassed croak comes out. He sounds like an overgrown bullfrog.

His body is yelling at him to fight or flight, but there is nothing to hit and nowhere to go. That’s when Sam bites down on his bulge.

“Ohhhh,” Dean is vaguely aware that the moan echoing in the car is his own, but his body is too busy spreading his legs apart to be bothered with the details. Slutty little legs – if he didn’t need them for walking…

And, okay, forget the legs, because Sam is sucking at the damp spot and as a result the denim is rubbing back and forth over the head of his cock. Dean’s hands take on a life of their own as his left one goes back to its disturbing, encouraging petting behavior of earlier, and his right one follows the curve of Sam’s spine to slip fingers underneath the waistband of his pants.

Sam sucks harder in response, and Dean feels his cock start to leak even harder. It’s damn mortifying, but it’s something he’s always done when he’s too turned on for his own good.

The sucking stops for a moment, and Sam rubs his face against the bulge again. “You smell so good.”

“Sammy,” Dean pants, and he isn’t even sure what he means to say. Stop? Go? Let’s go get smoothies? His brain is too far gone for complex thought.

Sam chuckles and pushes his ass up against the hand that is barely touching it, “A little reciprocation would be good,” his tone is demanding and playful at the same time.

Dean’s upper brain isn’t exactly sure what to do with that, but his lower one gets with the program when he hears Sam’s belt buckle clink, and the band of his jeans suddenly isn’t as tight as it was earlier.

Dean obligingly slides his had further down the crack so that it can rub against Sam’s hole. He figures if he leans enough he can maybe get at the back of Sam’s balls, but the angle is going to be awkward to get at his dick, especially if he doesn’t want to push Sam into a position that’s going to put more strain on his back.

“Yeah,” Sam purrs as Dean’s fingers rub against the small opening, and Dean tries not to be shocked that Sam likes having his ass played with.

Sam’s chuckling again and Dean feels a moment of confusion right before Sam bites at his cock again.

“You sound like you’re surprised.” Sam comments, and it is at that point that Dean realizes he actually said his observation about Sam’s ass out loud.

“I,” Dean stops and can’t think what he’s supposed to say. Yes?

“You need your cock sucked.” Sam announces for him, and yeah, that isn’t what Dean thought he might say, but it sounds like an awesome idea.

He doesn’t get a chance to get his jeans undone because Sam’s already got his fly halfway open before the signal made it to Dean’s hands. He’s oddly okay with Sam being faster than him for once though, because it leaves his own hands room to keep stroking his brother.

One of Sam’s hands tugs Dean’s cock out of his pants and the slightly cooler air in the car makes it strain just a little bit harder towards the nearby warmth that Sam is giving off. Sam, the little shit, blows against it, and the damn thing starts up its leaking act again all dribbles and no self respect.

“Can’t wait to actually see it,” Sam whispers right before he pulls it inside his mouth.

And yeah, the angle isn’t that good, so he can’t go deep, but it feels amazing anyway. Dean wants to thrust, but he’d have to move Sam a bit to do it, and he refuses to torque that beautiful back and give it more pain. So he pushes a finger inside Sam’s hole and, hey yeah, it feels kind of good to have it clench around that digit.

Sam seems to agree if the way his suction increases is any indication, and Dean spares a forlorn thought for the lube that he used up two states ago. Sam’s tongue quickly makes any thought go away though because it’s swirling around Dean’s cock like a lollipop, and he’s sucking on it like a champ.

“Sammy,” Dean moans again and this time it is pure, unadulterated lust. He’s sure that there is deeper meaning in there somewhere, some sort of bonding bullshit, but what he really means by it is that he likes getting his cock sucked.

Sam just rocks his ass back against Dean’s finger again in response.

It doesn’t take long for Dean to shoot. Abstinence isn’t his strong point and even if it was, he’s got Sam down there. His brother’s lips are surrounding his cock. The thought alone has gotten him through countless sessions of beating off in the shower.

Sam refuses to pull off, so Dean only feels slightly guilty when he chokes, coughs and sputters as Dean’s come starts to spurt out. He asked for it after all.

Dean floats on his orgasm high for a couple of seconds before he feels the door he’s propped up against swing away from him. It’s only his lightening fast reflexes that keep him from falling on his ass as he tumbles out of the car.

He wonders about what the hell just happened for a second before he sees Sam crawling out after him.

And Sam’s movements? They’re jerky as hell, but at least all his limbs seem to be coordinated. He’s obviously stiff as he gets out of the car and over to the tree that they’re parked next to. For a second, Dean wonders what the hell is going on inside Sam’s brain before he sees his brother lean up against the trunk for support. His long legs are splayed apart, and his jeans are riding low on his hips.

The moonlight illuminates Sam for a minute, and Dean feels a sudden shock at how beautiful he finds his own brother. Then as the light starts to fade again from the rolling clouds, his eyes drift down to the shadowed mound of boxers that Sam’s jeans are showing.

“Could you save freaking out until I get a little reciprocation here?” Sam’s voice is rough as he beckons Dean over.

Dean feels a twinge of guilt as he ambles towards Sam. He doesn’t feel freaked out. He feels like he couldn’t possibly love Sam more, and he feels like buying a set of wedding rings or something, and he feels guilty that he doesn’t feel like the world’s creepiest big brother, because he totally should.

And then, well, he gets to shove his hand down Sam’s pants, and he really doesn’t give a flying fuck about his absent conscience. Sammy is big and hard, and Dean is getting to put a hickey on his neck. The whole world is going to see that Sam Winchester isn’t available. They’ll see that he’s already got somebody to take care of him.

Sam tenses as he comes, and even though orgasms always feel good, Dean can see that the tensing traveled to his sore back. It’s really a good thing that he’d gotten his first because his brain is no longer so horny that it doesn’t realize what is about to happen.

Between the orgasm and the pain, Sam is toppling over like a redwood, but Dean’s always been there to catch his brother, and this time is no exception. Getting Sam’s own spunk on his jacket is new, but Dean figures he can get forgiven for that one.

Sam moans as Dean half carries him back over to the car.

As Dean wrestles him back into the back, he starts rambling, “Next time you are so getting me a bed. A nice one, Dean. With like, a feather top mattress. Oh, God, and warming massage oil. And you better learn to blow. Goddamn lips have been driving me fucking insane since I went through puberty. You know how hard it is to get it up for a girl when you want to be fucking your big brother?”

Dean wants to point out that no, he couldn’t possibly know that because he doesn’t have a big brother, but he keeps his mouth shut. In truth he’s too busy fighting the elation that he apparently really is Sammy’s boyfriend now and beating back the guilt that maybe he did something to Sam in their childhood that made him want this.

He’s got plenty of time to figure that out later. Right now they need to sleep.


End file.
